Innocence
by LaLaManfro
Summary: The blonde boy's brow became stressed and his shoulders visibly tensed, his hands still pulling at each other with anxiety, "Wh-why're you looking at me so funny, Stan?"


**ONESHOT**

**Title:** Innocence  
**Author:** LaLaManfr0  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairings:** Stan/Butters  
**Dedication:** None  
**Disclaimer: **Nothing is mine.  
**Summary:** _The blonde boy's brow became stressed and his shoulders visibly tensed, his hands still pulling at each other with anxiety, "Wh-why're you looking at me so funny, Stan?"_

**A/N: **Let me list for you my accomplishments this summer: Joined a gym. Watched all of Family Guy. Watched all of The Office. Working on watching all of South Park. Watched The Human Centipede 2: Full Sequence and can never unsee what has been seen. Wrote this. I've got a few other plots in my head for the boys, as well as a request for a part two of my Fruits Basket yaoi fic, so we'll see what happens.

Read and review, and also tell me what your favorite South Park pairing is :] … and how do you feel about South Park angst? I have a plot in my head for one but I'm not sure if it will be well received due to the subject matter.

"Great team work today, kids. Keep it up."

"Thank God, dude," clammy hands yanked a worn blue and red beanie down over raven locks, pushing sweat off a considerably matured face. "I thought that class was never going to end."

Another pair of hands scratched at ginger hair this time, not only thick and curly, but now intermittent with his own perspiration, and he too pulled a hat over his head to hide his remarkably Jewish features. "But actually." The first day of 8th grade already felt like they had been there for an entire year, and they were only two periods in.

Stanley Marsh pinched the front of his gym tee and pumped it forward and back, in hopes to capture some air between the fabric and his sticky skin. For Colorado, the summer had been hotter than expected, and due to it only being early September, the heat wasn't quite through with South Park yet, which meant a shitty few first weeks of school for the boys.

"And who the fuck is the new guy?" The ginger haired boy, Kyle Brovlofski, commented in general, not necessarily wanting or needing an answer from either Stan or Kenny McCormick, who had been not unusually quiet, and yet the other boys knew there were thoughts racing up in the hooded mind. Though there was no parka for Kenny today, as it had become an okay thing to remove it once in a while in the past three years, and because it was hot as fuck.

Stan just shook his head in response to Kyle's inquiry, because he didn't really know the answer. The only thing any of them knew was that Chef had gotten a job at a real restaurant and was no longer employed at the school, and as far as they were concerned, it really, really, sucked. In fact, things in general had kind of sucked for a year or two, not for any particular reason that any of the boys could fathom. Everything had either stayed exactly the same, or changed for the worse. Thus, the suckery.

The boys went to their respective lockers, separated deliberately by the school, because somehow perhaps the establishment believed it would keep them out of their usual trouble, which, of course, was not the case.

Kyle slipped his gym tee over his head and rolled it up into a little sweaty mass, stuffing it into his locker half-assedly, calling over his row of lockers to Stan's, "I can't believe Cartman is still getting away with that nurse's office shit."

"Fucking fatass," as was Kenny's 2 cents for the next 10 minutes. Not that Eric Cartman was even that large anymore; he sort of stretched out when he got a little older. But the term 'fatass' had become one of those things in South Park that just stayed exactly the same.

"I actually just think he's the laziest human being on the planet," Stan smiled across to Kenny, who was already changed back into his respective outfit of the day, sans parka. And Kenny smiled back, and that was enough for Stan to understand his friend's agreement.

A long tone sounded from all around the 8th grade class, though none of them even took a glance up toward it. Yeah, it sucked that the day wasn't even half over yet, but the nice thing about 8th grade was 3rd period lunch, straight after gym class, which meant plenty of time to get comfortable again before continuing with their day. Even though 10:00 in the morning was rather early for lunch, as far as any of them were concerned.

Kyle and Kenny were already on their way back to their hallway lockers as Stan folded his uniform up as neatly as he could and put it back into its place, among whatever other messes he'd already managed to make of the space. He was neat, but not that neat. "You coming, Stan?" Kyle poked around the corner at the other boy, who shook his head.

"You guys go ahead," he said, "Mackey wants to see me in the office cause of earlier." The first day of the school year, 10:00 in the morning, and Stan Marsh had already managed to get himself in a little bit of trouble. During first period he spoke out of turn, making a snide comment, not that he could remember what it was. Sometimes his comments just slipped out, like as soon as he had some kind of opinion he had no choice but to let it go free. The boys were still infamous for their shenanigans, and they were proud of it.

"Sucks, dude," Kyle pushed his mouth forward slightly and pulled his own hat over his head. It may have been hot outside, but he would rather hide his unruly hair than not. "We'll see you when you escape."

Stan sighed and stuffed his sneakers into his locker and shut it, slipping into his own shoes and reluctantly pulling his shirt down over his head, wishing he could just bask in the shirtlessness for a while so he wouldn't feel so sweaty.

The room was quiet now, as the rest of the class had more than likely already gone to lunch, but Stan felt no remorse in taking his sweet old time. He did not feel like going to deal with M'kay Mackey this early in the morning. In fact, he did not feel like dealing with most of the dicks and bitches at South Park Elementary. He just wanted to be out of the school and on to high school, where, yes, most of the people he went to elementary school with would be, but maybe they all will have grown up a little bit and school won't seem nearly as terrible, and he could start a completely new life for hims—

"O-oh, jeez. I-I'm sorry, Stan, I didn't see you there."

Stan had started out of the locker room, but was interrupted by a body colliding with his shoulder, not that he had been paying much attention either. He took a quick gander at Butters, who seemed a little more frazzled than necessary by the collision, and he shook his head, "Um …. No, it's okay, I didn't see you either."

Butters didn't seem to hear him though, "I-I was just … I was on my way out, a-and I wasn't looking, and, well, there you were all of a sudden," he fidgeted with his hands, "Are you okay, Stan? I really didn't mean it, h-honest."

"Butters, calm your tits," Stan tried to suppress a small smile, because clearly not much had changed about B—…

Not much had …

_Changed …_

When out of nowhere there were big, blue, sad, eyes staring back at Stan, and skin fairer than ever, blonde hair as unkempt as he remembered, but, Jesus.

_Jesus._

"Um …" Stan opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it again, unsure of what to say, his brow furrowing and his head tilting away slightly, though his eyes were still fixed on the boy standing in front of him, rabbling about something, but all he could hear were his own insides churning with the sudden urge to …

But, no. _No, _damnit, _no, no, no, no._

"Um …" he tried again, shaking his head a little and averting his eyes. This could not possibly be Butters. He could also not possibly be Stan, because Stanley Marsh would never think to … though, okay, he sort of experimented a few times over the summer, but he and the guys had just discovered booze, and he and Kyle were such good friends that it just sort of happened, but that was just one little measly kiss, in his room, on his bed, in the dark, and it didn't mean that he was _gay_ or anything, he just … He was just really, really, _really_, drunk. Both of them were really, really, _really_, drunk, and it meant _nothing_, which is why they swore never to tell a soul. Stan Marsh was _not_ attracted to boys. He liked _girls_. He had dated Wendy for how many years? He liked a good, hot, wet, pussy, and that was that.

"S-Stan …?"

"Wh-," He was torn from his thoughts by the boy still standing in front of him, now looking terribly concerned, like perhaps he had concluded that Stan had gotten a concussion from the run-in, when in reality he was just feeling sort of … flighty … and nervous …

"Yeah," Stan shook his head again, catching himself when he glanced down at the other boy's slender, perfect, torso, and how had he never noticed him before? "No … yeah, I'm … It's okay. I didn't see you either. That's all." Truer words had never been spoken. Butters had really grown into himself over the summer, and it was a near goddamn crime, because now Stan had no idea what to do with himself.

"Oh. O-okay, Stan, as long as you're sure."

And Stan wished Butters would stop _looking_ at him like that.

It was quiet for what felt like a few very long, very awkward, minutes, the boys just standing there, in the locker room, alone, and all Stan could think about was how they had 42 minutes of class time to be in the locker room, alone, doing whatever they wanted, and he hated himself for thinking about that. But now the urge to reach forward and grab the new Butters and kiss him on that pouty, enticing, extremely soft-looking, mouth until it hurt was boiling over in his stomach, and while he hated himself for that too, the impulse to do so was much more prevalent than the resentfulness he felt toward himself.

"W-well, I …" Butters started, as he clearly didn't know what to do with himself either, but for a very different reason, Stan was sure, "I better … get to lunch … I-I guess ..."

Stan's voice, again, seemed to be stuck in his throat, and he just shut his mouth and nodded, not realizing how uncomfortable Butters was beginning to look.

The blonde boy's brow became stressed and his shoulders visibly tensed, his hands still pulling at each other with anxiety, "Wh-why're you looking at me so funny, Stan?"

It was quiet again for a moment, before Stan's legs seemed to make the decision for him to take a step forward, his hands easily finding the other boy's waist and pulling him closer, but before he could make what he was fully aware could be the worst mistake of his life, Butters squirmed, his delicate hands up near his face, and the color of his cheeks brightened into a rosy shade of pink.

"S-S-Stan, wh—" Butters took two shaky steps back, but found himself up against the lockers, and Stan took an anxious hold of the smaller boy's shirt, staying as close as he could, and somehow the resistance just made him want Butters even more.

Stan moved in for a kiss again, but Butters turned his head away, his hands now pushing at Stan's chest and his breathing short, feeling a pair of lips on his jaw, and he closed his eyes tightly, "S-Stan, I-I don't know wh—… what you th-think you're d-doing, b—… but …"

Stan wasn't sure if Butters was trying to sound threatening, or what, but it certainly wasn't working, and neither was all of his squirming to try and escape. "Sshhh," Stan looked Butters square in the face, because the last thing he needed was for someone to walk in on this, "Just … stop talking …"

Butters looked back at Stan, pressing himself as far back against the lockers as he could, in hopes of somehow melting into them, "B-but I don't underst—"

"Sshh, sshh, Butters," Stan's fingers were silently working their way underneath of the other boy's shirt, anxiously touching unfamiliar skin, and enjoying it very much, "It's okay."

Butters seemed unconvinced, shifting uncomfortably underneath the hands that were exploring him, "Wh-what are you doing?"

Stan couldn't help but ask himself the same question, because this certainly was sudden … "I'm …" he started, but he wasn't sure exactly how to say it in a way that would make sense. No matter how he said it, it would probably never make sense. _Fuck it. _"I want to kiss you."

"Wh-why?"

"Sshhh!" Butters shut his mouth tightly. "I don't know, I just do."

Butters considered this for a moment, but as soon as Stan thought it might be safe to lean in again, and began to do so, the smaller boy struggled slightly underneath of him, pushing again at his chest, "I-I never kissed a boy before!"

Stan felt his stomach churn and, God, he was having the worst time controlling himself, "It's just like kissing a girl," he suggested, because he knew Butters had done that, though it was a long time ago, and who knew if the little rascal had had much, if any, action since then. Stan leaned in and kissed as lightly as he could at the other boy's neck, feeling the vibration of his vocal cords as he whimpered against the feeling. Stan smiled to himself a little at the salty taste of Butters' skin, before he moved his mouth up to the other boy's ear, "Just relax."

Butters whimpered again and blushed, and the taller of the two wasn't sure if he was enjoying this, or if he was just very, very, frightened. Stan's fingers slipped from under the blonde's shirt, and up to the hands pressing against his own body, taking them by the wrists and lowering them gently, slowly, as if any sudden move would scare the timid creature away. "Now shush," Stan whispered to him, letting his lips brush over the lobe of a blushing ear. "And I swear to God if you say anything to anyone …"

A little whine escaped Butters' mouth, and Stan sort of felt strange that he was threatening the other boy into a kiss, but it wasn't even that. He just didn't want his friends to shit on him for the rest of his life for kissing a boy when he was sober.

Stan moved carefully to hover over Butters' lips, his nose brushing against the other's, and he sensed the smaller boy shutting his eyes tightly, the body beneath his own trembling noticeably.

It only took a small tilt of the head to make it happen. It was just a peck, a pressing of one mouth to another, held for a moment, but for what felt like forever. Stan felt his heart beat speed up significantly, and he pulled away, blinking a little at Butters, who was breathing heavily, and who still had his eyes closed, but he was not fighting anymore. Butters opened his eyes after a moment and looked back at Stan.

The smaller boy's breathing slowed and he swallowed hard, blushing, blinking unsurely. Stan took him in, just looking for what felt like an unreasonably long time, before he leaned back in and kissed him again, pressing a little more firmly, and while Butters tensed for a moment, he eased into the second kiss, and Stan knew now that he had permission to launch. His hands found Butters' waist again, this time not hesitating before sneaking under the fabric of his shirt, feeling the boy's stomach clench in surprise. He continued upward to Butters' chest, half wishing the other would move, or use his hands, or something, but at least he was kissing back.

Stan pressed Butters' lips apart with his tongue, and he was certain this was something very new for the blonde, though he seemed to take it as well as he could muster, the taller boy doing his best to guide the smaller through these new discoveries as gently as his impulses would allow him. His hands slid down to Butters' hip bones and he felt the other boy squirm, but he was sure it wasn't in fear this time.

And then something wonderful happened.

A small moan escaped Butters' throat as Stan pressed his own hips against much bonier ones.

Stan moved to kiss at Butters' neck again, and the breathing he felt there was shallow and shaky, and he was fairly certain the trembling was a good thing at this point, inadvertently grinding his hips into Butters'. Another small whimper of unsure pleasure before there was an opening and closing of a locker on the other side of the room.

And that was that.

Butters jolted slightly and began panicking visibly, his eyes open and his hands pushing again at Stan's torso, "O-oh, jeez," he started, but Stan threw a hand over Butters' mouth, blushing now as well, because, goddamnit, how long had someone been in the room? He brought his other hand up to place his index finger over his mouth, indicating to Butters that it was shushing time, and Butters just looked at him, not quite sure exactly what just happened, or what that feeling was in his stomach, or why it felt so nice and fuzzy.

Stan poked his eyes around the lockers enough to try and catch a glimpse of whoever it was, and after a second he saw that it was the new gym teacher, putting his own shit away, and he really hoped that he hadn't heard anything; not that they had been loud, at all, and Stan was sure that if the teacher had heard anything he would have said something a minute or two ago.

Stan rubbed a hand over his face, still keeping his other over Butters' mouth, the smaller boy looking rather frightened, and he waited until he heard footsteps leave the room to take a step back and take a seat on the bench behind him, sighing heavily. God_damn_, that was close.

Butters glanced around the space and pulled at his hands nervously, unsure of what to say or do now that … _that_ had happened … And for the first time, Stan was sure Butters had nothing to say, and he took that as a fine, fine, thing.


End file.
